My Humble Petition

There have been so many gruesome failures (or quasi-semi-successes not worth sharing) in my tiny blue tiled cocina of late that I am perilously close to throwing in the towel and crying, WTF? I am spending days (yes, days!) feeling hollow from hunger because I can't find anything in the cruel pantry to eat. Especially for breakfast. And brunch. And snacks.

I can usually rustle up a tasty dinner built around potatoes or rice with a piece of fish or the one sausage I can eat. But truth be told- as you may already know in your omniscient all-knowingness- I am missing eggs and cheese like crazy this week. Dear Divine One, what I wouldn't give for one of my pasta frittatas. Or a sizzling tray of nachos. Or- Oy!- a hot and cozy slice of my roasted vegetable kugel.

With limited sources of protein to pick from- beef, pork and some fish- I am stymied at breakfast. Not to mention mid-day. And late afternoon snacks! I mean, seriously. Who wants to eat fish three times a day as my brisk and steely Nurse Practitioner (transplanted from coastal Maine, duh) advised?

And if might gently and sweetly ask, is it really wise to eat beef every day- even if it's grass fed and organic and roaming the range with Tommy Lee Jones and all that good stuff? I kinda doubt it. Not at my overheated pesky age.

As you well know, I'm no spring chicken.

Which I'm also allergic to. Here's the thing. Without my brown rice and beans, my peanut butter on rice cakes, my grabs of almonds and cashews, protein powder smoothies, and hummus? And those fast and fabulous grilled quesadillas? I am, quite frankly, more than slightly askew. Not to mention, cranky. And some days- like today, for instance? Yours in devotion is frustrated and gloomy and frankly, wicked pissed and hungry.

And I'm not going to lie about it.

In spite of the gluten-free peer pressure to keep it all upbeat and make lemonade when life gives you lemons (which, by the way, I am also highly allergic to, thank you very much), I am nauseated by other gluten-challenged bloggers waxing all beatific and Zen bubbly about reduced pomegranate sauces with cream and pumpkin risottos thick with butter and milk chocolate whatever- because what, by the way, doesn't taste fabulous when you cook it in butter? And get to use eggs and cream and raspberries and coconut milk and almonds?

I mean. Give me a break here.

Simply gluten-free is looking like a kindergarten picnic.

So I'm not going to pretend that I'm a shiny happy person today. I am living on potatoes. And way too many bland and spongy Organic Uncured Beef Hot Dogs. I eat like a fucking four-year old.

Holy Maternal One, I can hear your prompting inside my still small voice. It's true. I can eat buckwheat cereal for breakfast. But, honestly. I really do need to find a non-dairy milk for it that doesn't contain sunflower oil, so, by the way, if it's not too much trouble, and since your mammary-blessed archetype feeds the world--- can you help me?

I need a milky-creamy nourishing drink that is gluten-free, casein-free, soy-free, nut-free, brown rice-free, sunflower oil-free and flax-free. I tried making my own milk (not from my own nursing breasts- those halcyon days are over- but from buckwheat cereal, actually, and it was, um, how to put it? Pasty. With sediment.

Not a good quality in a breakfast beverage.

I'm also a little edgy about over-using the last few grains I can eat- like white rice and corn. I really don't want to become sensitive to those as well- so I'm trying- though not totally succeeding- in rotating those.

And quinoa? I'm nervous about it because I have a wicked albumen allergy- and guess what the protein in quinoa is? Well, you probably already know, since you're the Mother of All Grain and Queen of the Harvest and that whole thing. And besides, unfortunately, they didn't test me for quinoa or sorghum so I figured, why chance it?

Perhaps my fear is unfounded? Is the albumen in egg the same albumin in quinoa- aside from that whole animal verses plant and "e" verses "i" thing?

Can you check with the Goddess that handles chickens?

So, in the spirit of surrender and fate and synchronicity and overall letting-go Jungian Zeniosity, I thought I might toss this brain-splitting puzzle of mine out into the celestial heavens- and see what comes back.

Thank you for your time. I know you're busy this turn of the year- getting ready for winter and the big Solstice celebration and all that crazy Yuletide jazz. Me? I'm off to pour a big glass of wine and toast your buddy, Dionysus.